Bench time
illustratie: Zarlasht Zia
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Wat begon als een project tussen twee vriendinnen werd uiteindelijk een hoognodige uitlaatklep voor schrijfster Yasmin Dikkeboom. In haar nieuwsbrief Her IRL, die geheel sporadisch in de mailbox van haar subscribers beland, schrijft ze persoonlijke essays over rouw, haar leven zonder moeder en dagelijkse rompslomp. Een van die essays “Bench time” deelt ze exclusief met Modern Mourning.
Bench time
Like many feelings, the definition of tiredness changed for me over time. Before my mother died I would get tired from work, social obligations, my mom having cancer, but mainly my mind overthinking every single aspect of (my) life. I would get tired of things that feel extremely irrelevant to me right now but were very much part of my daily life back then. Texts that held room for interpretation (I always chose the one least positive), looking at my body over and over and wishing it looked different and simultaneously trying not to think about the fact that my single mother was terminally ill while I was off trying to build a life for myself. While grieving, tiredness hit stronger than ever before in life, it forced me to hit pause and reflect on life as I knew it. I was anxious all the time, sleep deprived and physically drained. I tried to leave the house once a day, everyday and go for the tiniest walk, sometimes I wouldn’t make it further than across the street other days I would make it to the park nearby. This was also the time when I experienced my all time lowest energy level to date. Making it barely to the, before mentioned, neighbourhood park I found a bench and sat there for a while and little while longer and longer. Not having the mental or physical strength to get up and walk back home. I just sat there, cried and at one point honestly thought that I wouldn’t make it back home - ever. Grief made me dramatic like that. I contemplated calling someone but didn’t know what to tell whoever I ended up calling. “I’m on a park bench and can’t get up, help?” Just a few weeks ago I was spending a little work vacation in the countryside and felt pretty okay until one afternoon I felt a tiredness creeping up my spine and down. And just like that, I was back on that bench.
That's when it hit me: I was afraid of being tired, becoming tired, staying tired and so I tried to stay away from that feeling. E.g. I took the best care possible of myself, tried to be strict with my boundaries but also never truly admitted that I was tired, not to me nor others. And similar to that time on the bench there was an essential part missing: I could have asked for help. Or let's rephrase that: I should have asked for help. Not only to get home from the park that autumn day but also in the day to day things: asking a friend to double check an important email, calling my partner to help when I overdone it with the groceries and am not able to carry them all the way home (while, rather unsuccessfully, breaking in new shoes), or simply sharing with those around me that I feel tired/overwhelmed/sad/happy.
Long story very short: feeling tired is okay, normal and very common. Surrender to it from time to time, cover up with a blanket, tea, socks, get cosy. Bingewatch, take a midday bath, order in, delegate, delicate. Bask in the glory of it.
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